Newton's cradle
by BHP
Summary: One night at the Eppes house sees a conversation that offers insights and reassurance. Set in Season 3.


Author's note: All the usual disclaimers apply – I don't own the show or the characters, only the words on this page. This would take place in season 3, between 'Brutus' and 'Killer chat'. As always, I'd love to hear what you think.

 **Newton's cradle  
** **by BHP**

The faces in the photograph smiled back at him as he traced a finger across the print. A happier moment, frozen for him to contemplate now. Photography was a simple science, but the effects were beyond measurement and calculation. Although his Cognitive Emergence Theory might have a shot at measuring the effects one day, if the research worked out the way he hoped.

He'd been looking at this photograph of himself and Larry yesterday, with Amita, when he'd had the unsettling realisation that Larry truly intended to go into space. Today the photograph had drawn him in again, a black hole of inexplicable attraction and unexpected pain. He didn't even notice the time passing as he stared at that memento of his past.

Charlie thought of the year when he'd first met Larry Fleinhardt. He'd been so young then, still so painfully unsure of himself. Socially inept in many ways, but already aware that who – and what – he was, was driving an invisible wedge between him and his brother. His adored older brother, and the one person he knew he couldn't lose. Not without losing a large part of his identity and sanity.

The snort of aborted laughter sounded loud in the quiet room. What he'd feared then had happened. He had lost Don, for many years, and somehow managed to stay sane. He'd even been happy, he knew. Although he couldn't deny that he was happier, and more himself, with Don back in his life than he had been without his big brother. He wondered suddenly if Don had felt his absence as keenly, then consigned that thought to oblivion. Don was stronger than he was, and Don had no doubt coped far better with their separation, and with much less effort than it had cost Charlie.

Everyone he knew seemed so much stronger and more capable than he was. Don was at the top of the list, obviously. An armed FBI agent, with a list of impressive and often terrifying skills, Don was the obvious champion in any contest for Charlie's admiration.

But Larry and his father shared the next spot. Larry was sure of his place in the world of science: so sure and unthreatened that he had taken a brilliant but terrified child under his wing and shepherded him into a future of career highlights and ever-more-fascinating numbers.

His father was also endlessly capable. He could build, repair or alter anything you could think of, he had a fount of advice and wisdom to share, and he had the strength to let both his sons follow their dreams. Regardless of the personal cost to himself. It was a pity Charlie didn't know how his father had managed that last feat.

NASA was obviously Larry's dream. Even though it hadn't been a dream Charlie had been aware of before now, Charlie could see it in the light in Larry's eyes, and hear it in that note of barely-suppressed excitement in his friend's voice. How could he be more worried about losing Larry than wanting his friend to be happy? What kind of friend – what kind of person – was he, to be more concerned about the looming instability of his world rather than the imminent expansion of Larry's horizons?

00-01-11-10-00

Don seethed inwardly as he filled in yet another form. He hid the rage behind a carefully constructed wall of calm routine. The usual post-shooting investigation was underway and his hip felt naked without his service weapon. He knew he'd get it back in a day or two, just as he knew the shooting would be ruled justified. But it still didn't change the fact that he felt somehow incomplete without the weapon in his holster. And wasn't that a worrying thought, all by itself?

The pile of paperwork was shrinking slowly, even though he and his team had spent the whole day working on it. The number of forms to complete and reports to write increased exponentially the minute a gun was fired. And this case had been convoluted enough, with the involvement of the CIA, to require a handful of extra reports to start with. It was hard to believe it had been a whole day since the shooting, but the paperwork always seemed to take longer than anyone believed possible.

Don signed another page and sighed. He checked his watch and calculated drive times to Pasadena, given the time of day. One more form and he'd call it a day. Head over to Charlie's house and get the latest news on Larry's trip to the stars. Maybe see if his dad was back from Oakland yet. Think about anything other than what he'd been doing last night. Try not to consider what last night's debacle was making clear to him about his job at the FBI.

That thought made him stop in the middle of a word. He knew what it was like to want something no-one else wanted, something no-one around you had, and what it took to follow that dream to its conclusion. He'd wanted a life outside of Charlie's influence, away from the all-encompassing universe of Charlie Eppes. He'd wanted a place to call his own. Where he could be seen for himself. Until last night, he'd been sure that place was the FBI.

But now, faced with what had happened and what he'd done, he couldn't help but wonder if that was still true. Had he made a mistake? Maybe that man didn't have to die. And if he truly did have to, maybe Don didn't have to be the one to pull the trigger. But he'd been manipulated by the CIA, people who should have been on the same side of the law as he was. And not just manipulated into thinking what was convenient for the CIA, either; he'd been manipulated to kill. To take a life that perhaps could have been spared, if he'd just had a little more knowledge and skill.

Years ago, Alan had questioned Don's decision to join the FBI. He'd been disappointed at Don's choice. Don knew that, even if his father had never actually said it quite so bluntly. They'd even managed to joke about it since then, with Alan admitting that Don's guess at his father's initial response was right: 'Where did I go wrong?'. Now, though, Don's mind circled that question warily, considering whether he had indeed made the right choice all those years ago. He realised that he was afraid of the answer to that question, in case it proved that he had been wrong all this time.

Don glanced down at the blank form on his desk and shook his head. Enough. Waiting one more day to do the paperwork wouldn't bring the world to an end. The sounds of the office made themselves clear around him again – the hum of the lights, keyboards clattering, voices in the break room, a squeaky hinge in the distance. The sounds drew him out of his thoughts and back to reality. A reality where he'd already sent his team home for the day. Maybe it was time to let himself be human again.

He stood up abruptly, brushing a hand over his gun-less hip as he reached to pull his windbreaker off his chair. He powered down his computer, hitched his windbreaker over one golf-shirt clad shoulder and dug into his jeans' pocket for his keys. He headed for the elevator, car keys ready in his hand. He didn't know if he was strong enough to cope with the major crack that had just split the foundation of his career in the FBI, but he knew where to go for help. Even if he was never able to admit it out loud, or to actually ask for what he needed. He headed to Charlie's house.

00-01-11-10-00

The house was quiet when he parked in the drive and killed the engine of the black Suburban. The porch light was already on, a pale glow in the deepening twilight. Don could already feel the warmth and certainty the light offered. It was the feeling of home – that one feeling you could never truly explain because it was both too simple and too complex. A lot like one of Charlie's Millennium math problems, now that Don thought about it. And now he was comparing things to math, just like Charlie always did. If he'd ever needed proof that the foundation of his world was in danger, there it was.

He opened the front door to silence. Now that he thought about it more clearly, he remembered that his dad was only due back tonight from his business trip, which was why he had expected to find someone at the house. But maybe he'd got the time wrong. He dropped his keys on the table, rifled through the mail and draped his windbreaker over the back of a chair. Don sighed quietly. He was about to head into the kitchen to grab a beer, before looking for Charlie in the garage, when he heard it.

A slight rustle of clothing, a quiet indrawn breath. His hand reached automatically for his weapon, but found only the empty space on his hip.

"Hey." Charlie's voice was quiet, dark with something that sounded almost like pain.

"Hey, Charlie." Don let himself relax before turning to find Charlie sitting in the dim light that filled the living room. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"I felt like it." Charlie's non-answer raised a flag for Don. Charlie was always busy, always thinking, writing equations, running numbers of some sort. He never just sat in the dark, doing nothing. "Besides, it's not really that dark. I can see what I need to."

"Okay, then." Don let that slide for the moment, noticing the photo album open on Charlie's lap. "Beer, Chuck?"

"Thanks, Donald." The sniping was automatic, a welcome and comforting reflex. Don headed into the kitchen, pulled two beers from the fridge and popped the tops off. He sipped his while heading back to Charlie, handing the second bottle to Charlie before settling on the couch next to his brother. He looked at their matching jeans and sneakers and smiled. Charlie's math might be rubbing off on him, but his dress sense was clearly having an effect on Charlie.

"Dad not back from Oakland yet?"

"Plane's delayed. He should be here in about an hour, I think he said." Charlie looked at his watch, then amended, "Make that about forty minutes."

Don savoured another mouthful of beer, then gestured towards the album.

"What you got there?"

"Oh, um, just a photo album."

"Can I see it?" Don was already reaching for it, knowing by some big brother instinct that letting Charlie say no was not an option. He pulled the album onto the cushion between them and saw two smiling faces staring back at him. Charlie and Larry. Suddenly things were so much clearer.

"When was this taken?"

Don could already tell, from Charlie's face and hair in the photo, exactly when it had been taken. He wasn't good at his job in the FBI because he was unobservant. But sometimes, it paid off to ask the obvious question.

"When I went to college. When I moved with Mom."

Charlie's eyes met Don's, and they both nodded. Enough said on that topic.

"Larry never changes, does he?" Don mused, looking at the smile, the light in Larry's eyes.

"Everything changes, Don. Isn't that what you said to me, just this week?"

"Okay, I did say that." Don flinched slightly at having his words tossed back at him. "I should have been clearer. Things change, Charlie, situations change, maybe even how we react can change. But sometimes, a lot of times, people don't change. Not really."

"Sorry, Don. I don't see the difference. If everything else changes, how can a person not?"

Don smiled at the faintly exasperated tone in Charlie's question. His brother had never handled uncertainty well and there was no equation to predict behaviour.

"Let's take you as an example." Don raised an eyebrow at Charlie's mutinous look and quelled the urge to look at his watch. "Your first reaction to everything is math. You look for a pattern, something to solve, a place to hide."

"Are we going there again?" A trace of anger rode the words.

Don shook his head quickly.

"No. But you've just proved my point. That's what you used to do when something bothered you or upset you. You hid in numbers. Now …"

Don looked Charlie right in the eye and smiled gently, waiting until Charlie nodded.

"Now … I'm willing to bet that your first reaction is still to look for some sort of math equation. But, and here's the thing, Charlie, you've learned to control that response. To deal with the reality around you, before turning to the numbers in your head."

"Okay, I guess I see what you're getting at. So?"

"So, Charlie, you haven't changed. How you react may have changed, but your first thought is still math."

"Sometimes." Charlie's voice was so quiet that Don almost missed the word.

"How so, Charlie?"

"Sometimes, I'm just … scared."

"That's normal. Everyone gets scared. Especially when what they're facing is new, or unknown, or just completely different to everything they've ever known."

"You don't get scared. When you moved away from here, you weren't scared. I was. Sometimes I still am, just at the thought of something changing."

"Well, that was me. This is you. Apples and oranges, buddy."

Charlie shook his head in disgust and Don grinned, deciding to offer his brother an olive branch of sorts.

"Besides, who said I wasn't scared?"

"You never showed it, if you were." Charlie was adamant and Don tilted his head in acknowledgement. Even that long ago, he'd learned how to stand alone and take care of himself.

"Yeah, well. Doesn't mean I didn't feel it."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Hey, big brother over here, you know." Don put on an affronted air, holding on to it until Charlie couldn't help but laugh.

Don tapped a hand on the photograph of Charlie and Larry.

"You aren't afraid. In this photo."

"No, I wasn't. I'm not, even now, when Larry's around." Charlie's admission was grudging, as though speaking some shameful and tightly held secret.

"There's nothing wrong with that." Aside from his father and Charlie, Don had no similar anchor in his life. He'd hoped that Robin would want to fill that role, but he should have known better than to hope for any sort of happy ending for himself.

"I'm a grown man, Don."

"Yeah, you are. A good one, with good, strong friendships. Solid foundations for a good life. You're lucky, Charlie."

"But Larry wants to leave." Here was the crux of the problem, Don realised. "He wants to go where I can't. Where I don't even want to go. What if …"

"What if … what, buddy"

"What if, without him, I'm not me? What if him leaving takes away the foundations of our friendship? What if it's never the same again?"

"Charlie, it's already different. It's not the same as it was when you met, or even as it was a year ago. But it's still there."

Don didn't know if Charlie was hearing him; understanding his intent as well as his words.

"Look, it's like that executive toy. You know, the one with the five balls on catgut, in the little frame. The one where you drop the end ball and the others all move."

"You mean a Newton's cradle? A physical demonstration of the principle of conservation of momentum and energy?"

"If you say so." Don rolled his eyes and contemplated sticking out his tongue at Charlie as he'd done when he was fourteen and Charlie had started on long-winded explanations.

"If you look at the toy – Newton's cradle – what do you see? You see movement, sure, but the foundation never moves. And all the balls eventually settle into place again."

"So you're saying that Larry and I are an executive toy?"

Don laughed at that and laid a hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"No, Chuck. I'm saying that your friendship is the foundation and that Larry going to space is just like moving the end ball. Everything changes for a while, but then it all settles back into place."

"Things change." Charlie mused thoughtfully. "They change configuration, then return to the point of origin. The system experiences turbulence, then calm again. Like the calm before and after the storm."

"Something like that." Don nodded.

Charlie reached up to grab Don's hand, squeezing it hard and fast before letting go.

"Thanks, Don."

"Anytime, buddy." Don hefted his empty bottle. "Want another?"

"No, thanks. I think I'm just going to … think for a while."

Charlie smiled then, a quiet, joyful smile and wandered through the kitchen to the garage. Don watched him go, watched the lights come on in the garage and knew that Charlie would probably be out there for hours. Perhaps he should just go home.

The sound of the front door opening behind him had him spinning around, hand reaching for his missing gun again.

00-01-11-10-00

Alan paid the cab and grabbed his bag, then started the walk up the path to the front door. He'd asked the driver to stop in the road as soon as he'd seen the black Suburban in the drive. If Don were here at this time of the evening, given how long his plane had eventually been delayed, it was possible he was asleep on the sofa. If he were, Alan didn't want to wake him.

That idea died a death as soon as he stepped to the front door, avoiding the wood panel that creaked with the skill born of long experience. He should have fixed the problem years ago, but couldn't deny that he liked a house with a little character.

He reached for the door handle, but stopped when he heard voices. Don and Charlie. Something about the tones suggested that the discussion was serious. Alan gently set his suitcase down and moved to lean against the wall by the slightly open window. Charlie's voice floated out, so quiet Alan had to strain to make out the words.

"Sometimes … I'm just scared."

The worry in those words almost had Alan bursting into the room, but he held himself back as he heard Don answer. And then he stood transfixed as Don carried on talking, showing insights Alan had never seen from his eldest, but knew he should have expected. There had always been a great deal more to Donnie than what the world could see. When the conversation finally ended, Alan straightened up and yawned hugely before gathering up his bag again and opening the front door.

Don swung around to see him, hand reaching for a non-existent gun at his hip. Alan knew, with a flash of inexplicable certainty, that the reason for the absence of the gun was the reason Don had come to visit tonight. Now all he had to do was manoeuvre Don into talking about something his eldest would rather hide. That wouldn't be difficult at all. Alan mentally braced himself, reminding himself that a father's work was never done.

"Hey, Don." Alan lugged his suitcase in and dropped it just inside the doorway.

"Hey, Dad. Good trip?"

"Overall, yes."

"Overall?"

"That renovation is going to be more like completely rebuilding the place."

"Ouch."

"I know. But at least the foundation is solid, so we've got something to work with."

Alan lowered himself into his favourite chair with a sigh.

"That's good. I'm not as young as I used to be, and planes are not as comfortable as they used to be."

"Do I hear you admitting that you're old?" Don's voice carried an undertone of laughter, which spilled to life at the disgusted expression on Alan's face.

"No, you did not. I said I'm not as young as I used to be."

"And that's different how?"

"Your turn will come." Alan warned darkly.

"Maybe it already has." Don muttered, thinking of the man he'd shot the night before. He could see the speculation in his father's eyes and spoke first.

"Beer? Coffee?"

"Coffee, I think."

"Coming up." Don headed to the kitchen, hoping to get Alan's mind off the comment that the other man couldn't have missed hearing. But his father followed him, heading to the window to stare at the lighted garage.

"How's Charlie?"

"Okay. Better now, I think."

"What's this I hear about Larry going to space?"

"Eavesdrop much, Dad?" Don's voice was sharper than necessary and he sighed before speaking more quietly. "How long were you listening?"

"Long enough to get that Charlie's upset. That he needed advice."

"Yeah, and look what he got instead."

"Stop that." Alan's voice brooked no argument. "I think he got exactly what he needed."

"Why didn't you come inside sooner?" Don was trying to process the idea that he seemed to have done something right for Charlie, for once. Without being pushed in the right direction by his father.

"No need." Alan smiled at Don. "And before you say anything else, let me just say that a wise man knows when he's not needed. He knows when to just let a conversation run its course."

"A wise man, huh?"

"Always, my son."

Don couldn't help but chuckle. He poured two mugs of coffee, offering one to his father before tasting his own.

"So, back to my original question." Alan could be persistent. "What's this about Larry?"

"He's going to the International Space Station for six months."

"Good for Larry." Alan looked so proud, anyone watching would have thought that he and Larry were blood relations rather than just really close friends. "We'll have to plan something special as a send-off."

"That's what I thought, but we may have to talk Charlie into it."

"I don't think so." Alan was certain. "I think that you've managed to get him to see this whole thing in a more positive light. Less threatening to him. You know, no matter how old he gets, Charlie is always going to need his big brother."

"Right."

"We all need someone to look up to, Don. For Charlie, that will always be you. No matter what else happens between you two, that will never change."

Don ducked his head, strangely embarrassed at how much he enjoyed the thought that Charlie might still need him, in some way, no matter how much smarter Charlie was and would always be.

"Let's hope his faith isn't misplaced."

After all his years with Alan as his father, Don still missed the expression that crossed his father's face. If he'd seen it, he might have realised that he'd said too much, and that nothing would stop Alan getting Don to talk about things he'd rather forget.

"He's got good instincts, Charlie has." Alan's voice was calm and sure. "He learned them from you."

"Then he's in trouble, because mine aren't so great lately."

"Oh?" Alan knew an opening when he heard it, but getting Don to open up about anything had to be handled carefully. Planned like ambush and delivered unexpectedly.

"Just this last case. I had to shoot this guy …"

"I wondered where your gun was."

"I'll get it back in a day or two." Don's hand brushed his hip as he spoke, unaware of the action as he looked at Alan.

"So how does this have anything to do with your instincts?"

"I misread things. I was manipulated, by people who are supposed to be on my side."

"Your side?"

"Yeah. You know, truth, justice. Catching the bad guys and helping the innocent."

"Ah, that side." Alan couldn't hide his smile, his face making it perfectly clear that he thought Don was more of an idealist than Alan had ever been.

"Laugh if you want."

"I'm not laughing, Don. Just thinking that if you'd told me all of that, when you first told me that you were joining the FBI, I would have worried about you a lot less."

"Your first thought wouldn't have been 'where did I go wrong'?"

"No. More along the lines of 'I did something right'." The stunned look on Don's face made Alan want to gather his oldest into a hug and never let him go. "A parent couldn't want to hear a better reason than that for his child's choice of a career."

"But what if … never mind."

"No, Don, finish your sentence."

"What if it's the wrong choice?" The doubt in Don's voice was so deep, and his eyes so troubled, that Alan wanted to find the person who had caused his child so much pain. Meet them and explain to them, in great detail, how they would never be good enough to breathe the same air as his wonderful, honourable son. But that would embarrass Donnie, so he would control himself. Sometimes, being an adult took all the fun out of things.

"If you made your choice for the reason you just gave me, then it was the right choice."

Don gave him a sceptical look and Alan shook his head.

"What other people do, doesn't matter. Their choices are their choices. I may not be happy about what they do, or the effect it has on you, but that doesn't change your choices. Or you, for that matter."

"Come again?"

"Your little example to Charlie."

"About the toy?"

"Newton's cradle, Don. Don't let Charlie hear you call it a toy again." Alan shook his head and smiled at Don's exasperated snort, then sipped his coffee. "That example is as true for you as it is for Charlie. Your foundation, your reason for choosing the FBI, is what matters. It hasn't changed. You haven't changed."

"Sometimes, Dad, I'm not so sure."

"I am." Alan had never been so sure of anything in his life. Except marrying Margaret. "Take it from me, if you can't find that certainty in yourself right now."

When Don looked as though he was about to argue the point, Alan raised a finger to silence him.

"Who is the wise man in this room?"

"According to you, that would be you." Don's amusement was obvious.

"So it would be. In that case, since that's the reason you came here tonight –"

"That's not true!"

"Okay. Since that's one of the reasons you came here tonight, why not just make it easier on yourself and listen to me?"

"I'll try."

"In that case, let me add one more thing. Maybe you're a little less naïve now, maybe a little disillusioned, but if you truly believed you weren't basically the same person you've always been – you would have moved on by now."

"Maybe you're right."

Alan could see the subtle relaxation of the tight muscles across the back of Don's neck and felt the relief wash over him. He'd managed to get through to Don, getting his stubborn son to see the truth a little more clearly. Alan counted that as a major victory. Something worth celebrating, later, on his own. Doing so now would only make Don wish that he had said nothing.

"So." Time to change the subject. "The International Space Station?"

"Yeah." Don sighed, then smiled. "If anyone seems like the right person for that job …"

"It's Larry."

00-01-11-10-00

Charlie paced the garage, stopping at each of his chalk boards in turn. The piece of chalk in his hand, however, went unused. Nothing on the boards was any help, just as P v NP had been no help in the last three months of his mother's life. Sometimes, equations were just distractions and not solutions. It felt like heresy just to think like that, but he knew that was often how Don saw Charlie's 'obsession' with numbers. A distraction from reality.

In reality, the one he was facing now, nothing was going to change the fact that Larry was going to space. If he were honest with himself, Charlie knew that Larry had a contribution to make to his scientific field and that no-one he knew deserved the opportunity more than his friend. But that didn't change the fact that he was going to miss Larry.

He dropped the chalk on the table and headed back towards the doorway. Movement across the yard, in the kitchen, caught his eye. Don was in the kitchen with their father. Charlie looked at his watch and realised that he should have expected to see Alan there – it was long past his father's estimated arrival time.

He could see that there was some sort of serious conversation going on, as Don and Alan were drinking coffee and not beer. For Don, beer was always for relaxing while coffee was for thinking. Reasoning things out. No wonder there was always so much coffee in Don's office.

They were probably worried about him, Charlie realised. They probably thought he was going to fall apart if Larry left. Granted, his track record wasn't that great. Charlie snorted quietly, admitting that they were most likely right. He had been on the verge of doing exactly that before he'd talked to Don earlier. Don, who had somehow made things alright again – just as his big brother always seemed to be able to do.

Charlie figured they both deserved to know that he was going to be able to handle Larry's absence for six months. So he carefully switched off the lights and closed the garage door before walking quietly to the kitchen. Charlie paused just outside the door, hand reaching for the door handle but halted by the serious tone of Don's voice. He focused on the words and realised that Don was talking about his last case.

He knew he shouldn't listen without letting Don and his father know he was there, but it was so unusual to hear Don open up about the stresses of his job that Charlie didn't want to interrupt. Although he knew he was often bad at reading social cues, this time he was sure that he should just stand still and keep quiet. And deal with the fallout later, when Don realised that Charlie had heard things his big brother would rather protect him from.

Don needed to talk to someone about the things he saw and did at the FBI. About how those things affected him, even if Charlie knew that Don would forever deny that anything about his job ever bothered him. So if his brother had decided that he wanted to talk to their father, tonight, alone, Charlie wanted him to have the opportunity.

By the time he'd learned more than he needed to know, Charlie almost wished he had interrupted the conversation in the kitchen when he'd had the chance. He felt frozen, unsure of how to enter the kitchen without everything he'd heard being obvious from the look on his face. When the discussion turned to Larry's trip to space, he realised that he'd just been given the perfect moment to speak up and let his family know he was there. So as Don mentioned the right person for a trip to space, he stepped into the room and spoke.

"It's Larry."

00-01-11-10-00

Charlie's voice finished Don's sentence. Don jerked around sharply, nearly spilling the remnants of his coffee. Charlie stood in the doorway, a bemused smile on his face at his brother's over-reaction.

"How long have you been standing there, Chuck?" Anger flared and Don shoved it down hard. It wasn't Charlie's fault that Don had problems.

"A while, Don." Charlie's lack of response to the hated nickname made it clear to Don that his little brother had probably heard too much.

"Long enough to know that Dad's right."

"Now, boys, let's not get carried away. I'm not sure that the world can cope with you both admitting that in one night." Alan's comment was laced with humour. Don had to smile in return, noting Charlie's matching grin.

"Want some coffee, Charlie?" Not much of a peace offering, or change of topic, but one his little brother seemed keen to take, based on the enthusiastic nod. Don let his anger fade, knowing Charlie would never have eavesdropped intentionally.

Don refilled his mug and Alan's, poured one for Charlie and headed back to the living room to settle on the sofa, with his mug cradled between his palms. Charlie joined him, carefully closing the photo album before balancing his coffee mug on one knee and holding it steady with a single finger. Alan took his habitual chair again and leaned back peacefully, giving Charlie a meaningful look. Charlie's only acknowledgement was to use one more finger to balance the mug on his knee. Silence settled around them, until Alan spoke again, raising his mug in a silent toast.

"Larry in space. Somehow, that just seems fitting."

Don and Charlie lifted their mugs in acknowledgement. Don could feel the change in the room, that sense of acceptance of how their world was changing. But rather than dwell on it, or let Charlie dwell too deeply on it either, he chose to lighten the mood.

"So, Chuck, I know what to get you for your birthday this year."

"Really, Donald?"

"I know this little shop in downtown LA. Sells these great executive toys …" Don's smile was wicked.

Alan's laughter was almost drowned out by Charlie's scandalised exclamation.

"A Newton's cradle is not a toy, Don!"


End file.
